


Nightmares

by SpaceIdiot



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22364296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceIdiot/pseuds/SpaceIdiot
Summary: Reginald Bright had always hated public bathrooms.
Relationships: Reginald Bright & Fred Thursday, Reginald Bright & original male character
Kudos: 9





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this partly due to a dream I had, and partly to deal with some traumas I went through recently. This is very personal but I thought I'd share it for anyone who maybe wished that they'd had, or could have been, a hero like Thursday.

Bright washed his hands. It was an odd habit, washing them before and after using the restroom, but ever since he'd been in India it had become a ritual. He hated using public bathrooms. No matter how clean they actually were, they always felt dirty. Another unusual habit the little man had was that he all but refused to use a urinal. And so he closed the stall for behind him.  
He took in a sharp breath as he heard the bathroom door open. People always made fun of him when they learned his habits, which was another reason he tended to avoid public bathrooms. He heard whoever it was shuffling about, and then a knock sounded on the stall door.  
"Shit," he hissed under his breath. "It's occupied," he said.  
There was a moment's hesitation. No "oh sorry" or "take your time" or anything. He felt himself tense up.  
With a bang, the door swung open. He whirled around, just able to button his trousers.  
"What the hell!" He growled. "Oh!" He blinked in surprise. "Mr. Powell."  
He looked up into the face of one of his superiors. He flushed. He couldn't imagine how awkward division meetings would be now.  
There was a sudden warning bell that went off in the back of his head. Why hadn't Mr. Powell apologized for barging in on him? There was little to no response on the face of the other man, but the look in his eyes made Bright distinctly uncomfortable.  
Bright stepped to the side, attempting to get an opening to dart out of the stall.  
"If you'll excuse me, Sir, my friends are waiting for me."  
It was an old defence mechanism he'd learned as a boy. Make sure the threat thinks people are waiting for you, and might come looking if it takes you too long to return. But it did not seem to work on Mr. Powell.  
“You’re married, Bight?” Powell said.  
“Widowed, Sir,” Bright replied hesitantly. “But I don’t see-”  
Mr. Powell took a step forward. Bright took a step back.  
“You must be lonely,” Powell hummed.  
Bright felt his chest get tight. “One gets by,” he said.  
Powell stepped forwards again. Bright retreated again, and found himself bumping up against the bathroom wall. His breath came quickly, his hands closing into fists. Mr. Powell had 6 or 7 inches on him, and at least 50 pounds. He didn’t dare to call out. Who would hear him anyways.  
Mr. Powell reached out his hand. Bright flinched. He’d heard rumours about Powell’s sexual interests, but he’d never imagined he’d be one of them.  
“Sir, I-”  
His breath caught as Powell touched his face.  
“Crying shame a man like you, left all alone.”  
Bright’s heart beat quickly. What was he supposed to do? What could he do?  
“Sir, please,” he said. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t touch me.”  
Powell smirked. “Lucky for me I don’t care much what you prefer.”  
The little man felt his mouth go dry. Powell’s thumb ran across his cheek and touched his lips. Bright turned his head away but Powell’s right hand grabbed it and forced it back. Bright had his hands on Powell’s wrists, trying to pull his hands away. But he felt all but helpless against the bigger man. Powell bent his head down.  
“Don’t you dare!” Bright gasped as Powell almost touched his lips. “Don’t you dare do this!” He tried to sound as commanding as he could, but his voice shook all the same.  
“What will you do?” Powell smiled. “Who would believe you for a start? And besides, do you really want to risk your job? Your reputation? I could have you roasting on a steak before you could get out of this pub.”  
Bright fell silent. He thought he might vomit as the man’s lips touched his neck. He writhed and pulled, but it was no use. If he’d had a chance to run, perhaps, but now - he was at the other man’s mercy. He felt a hand slip down his chest and begin to fumble with his trouser buttons.  
No, no, no. His mind reeled. What could he do? He had to do something. He had a thought. He took his free hand and hit him, palm up against nose as hard as he could. At the same time, he thrust his knee into Powell’s groin. The bigger man let out a yelp and stumbled back, but it wasn’t enough. As Bright tried to dart past him, he felt a strong had on his arm, pulling him and shoving him up against the bathroom wall. He cried out, Powell grabbing the side of his head, hitting him so hard against the stone wall that he felt dizzy and his vision doubled.  
“You’ve made me angry now,” he growled, his hand around Bright’s throat. “That was a very bad idea. Cry out again and you’ll get worse than a bump on the head.”  
He tried to move, but Powell has such a firm grip on him now that there was nothing he could do. He closed his eyes, trying to wish away every sensation created by the hand of the bigger man. This couldn’t be happening, really. If he closed his eyes hard enough he’d wake up at home. It would have been nothing but a nightmare. But the pain of Powell’s teeth against his skin made him fully aware that he was not in a dream. Damn, damnit! He had to do something. He couldn’t just stand here and let this happen. He felt Powell’s grip become so tight on him that he could barely breathe. He felt dazed, confused - everything hurt. Even areas yet untouched.  
Bright gasped suddenly, Powell’s grip loosening at the sound of the bathroom door opening. A firm hand went over Bright’s mouth. There was a shuffling sound.  
“Mr. Bright?”  
Bright felt his heart leap. It was Thursday. He took the opportunity to plant his knee once more in Powell’s groin. Powell yelped, and the door to the bathroom stall swung open. There was a flurry of movement and the next thing Bright knew, Thursday had Powell by the neck, his fist poised. Powell’s nose was bleeding.  
“I could have your job for this Thursday!” Powell hissed.  
“You’ll lose a lot more than your job if I see ever see you around Mr. Bright again,” Thursday said.  
“You can’t stay by him every moment of the day,” Powell smirked. “I’ll get what I want eventually.”  
“You do and you might find yourself floating in the nearest river.” Thursday’s teeth clenched, his eyes wild with anger.  
Powell flinched, his confidence suddenly shaken.  
“Mr. Bright is protected not only by me, but the other men at Cowley station. You touch him again and not a one of us will hesitate to put a bullet in you.”  
“You’d be a murderer!” Powell protested.  
Thursday got his face all but an inch away from Powell’s. “There’s plenty of places to shoot a man that won’t kill him. But they can do damage. Irreparable damage.” He glanced down between Powell’s legs, and then back up. “Have I said enough to have you going?”  
Powell hesitated. He pulled back from Thursday’s grip and moved to the bathroom door.  
“You understand me,” Thursday said, making Powell stop. “What you do to him, I’ll do worse to you. You’ve got my word on it, and I don’t go back on my word.”  
Powell swallowed, and darted out of the room.  
Bright could barely breathe. He felt dizzy. Had that all really happened? His shaking fingers fumbled over his disheveled clothes, trying to put everything back in its place. His throat felt tight. The spot on his neck where Powell had bitten throbbed. He wondered if he was bleeding. He felt at it, but he wasn’t sure if the dampness was caused by saliva or blood.  
“Sir,” came a comforting voice. “Mr. Bright are you alright?”  
He blinked at the floor, ears ringing. “I - I…”  
His thighs suddenly felt a draft, and he realized his trousers were around his ankles. He went red, flustered, bending and grabbing them.  
“God, oh god,” he breathed, stumbling against the wall.  
He felt a firm hand on his shoulder, suddenly grounding him. He looked up at Thursday with red eyes and parted lips, gasping for air.  
“We’ve got to get you home,” Thursday said.  
Bright pulled back from Thursday’s grip.  
“What - what did you see when you came in?” he fumbled.  
“Sir?”  
Bright shook his head. The whole thing felt like some sort of awful blurry void, only hints of hands and teeth and fear coming through.  
“Was I…” Bright didn’t even know quite how to say it. “My trousers,” he said at last. “I don’t remember - taking them off.”  
Thursday felt sick. “Your belt was undone, Sir,” he said gently. “But they were still on. They must have fallen when you kneed him. He wasn’t, I mean he didn’t - not yet.”  
Bright closed his eyes. “Thank god,” he breathed.  
His knees suddenly felt weak. He reached out a hand, just brushing Thursday’s arm.  
“Thursday I think - I… I…” his voice faded, and his knees gave out beneath him. Thursday caught the little man with little difficulty.  
“Come on, Sir,” he said, “Let’s get you home.”  
“I don’t want to be alone,” Bright said, leaning on his friend’s arm.  
“Of course not!” Thursday said, sounding almost insulted. “I’ll stay with you as long as you like.”  
“But your wife.”  
“She’ll understand.”  
Bright went white. “You won’t tell her!”  
“Of course not, Sir. I’ll just let her know you’re not feeling well is all. She’s got a protective streak over you.” He hesitated. “As do I.”  
Bright felt very warm. He didn’t remember much of the trip out of the pub and the ride back to his home. The next thing he knew he found himself sitting on his sofa, a blanket over his lap, and a glass of brandy in his hand. Thursday was sitting across from him.  
“You ought to get some sleep then,” Thursday said.  
Bright nodded. “Yes, I suppose I ought to, at some point.”  
Thursday looked at the floor. “Sir, if you ever - well if you ever feel the need to talk about anything…”  
“Thank you, Thursday,” Bright said, catching his friend’s eye. “I’ve always been able to count on you.”  
“And you always will.”  
Bright stood up. “Perhaps I’ll go to bed now,” he said.  
“Let’s get a bit of ointment on that bite first, though, Sir,” Thursday said, standing as well.  
“Yes, I’ve got something in… in the bathroom…. For it.” He hesitated, his heart beating quickly and his hands beginning to shake.  
“Should I get it?” Thursday offered.  
Bright nodded.  
Thursday rummaged around in the sink cupboard and found some ointment and a plaster. Bright was sitting up on the side of his bed when Thursday found him again. He looked remarkably small on the big queen sized bed. His legs together and his hands tucked between his knees.  
“I think that I’m going to vomit,” he said quietly.  
Thursday quickly found a wastebasket as Bright held a hand over his mouth.  
“No I’m… alright,” he said after a moment.  
“I’ll leave this here then, just in case,” Thursday replied. Without another word Thursday went about cleaning the mark on Bright’s neck and and putting a plaster on it. Bright stayed seated on his bed, staring vaguely at the corner of the room.  
“I’ll be downstairs, Sir,” Thursday said. “You call if you need anything. I’ll be here till you wake up.”  
He turned to go when he felt something graze his hand. He looked to see Bright’s fingers just touching his hand.  
“Sir?”  
“Thursday, I...thank you.”  
Thursday nodded. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Bright. We’ve got to look out for our own, we have. We’re family. And no one hurts my family and gets away with it.”  
“Try not to shoot anybody,” Bright said half smiling.  
“I’ll do my best, Sir.”  
Bright looked at him. “You always do.”


End file.
